Just Go With It
by Music and Angels
Summary: Everyone but the guilty ballerina herself thinks Sasha is taking it overboard by trying to learn everything about relationships (both past and present) before taking her next step. Roman comes by her apartment one night and Sasha learns the value of spontaneity!


"You did **not** ask him for a profile—"

"I can't believe even you'd go there!"

"Sasha, what's done is done…

And what guy likes discussing his old flames?"

The petite ballerina smirked, her first comment flying Ginny's way. "You're the only sixteen year old in this dimension who would say 'old flames'. This is the twenty-first century, and when you ask someone their number, you're talking partners, not the amount of grandfathers you've given a sponge bath too at the old folks' home."

She turned to address the other gaping teens, aghast that she was so forward with Roman.

"So what if I asked him? If he wants to stay with me, I need to know everything about him." She took a breath, "Now I know you're going to say that sounds like a stalker. But remember the dog I never had?"

Before she'd even finished her sentence, the girls groaned over the limitless times they'd heard Sasha's plight of a childhood without pets.

"Good. If I had gotten the dog like it was _promised _to me, it was my duty to have obtained every bit of necessary information. Roman is my dog, and before either of us can make a move, I need to know where he's been so I can, you know, change that. Be better."

Melanie, Ginny, and Boo still stared at her, their identical expressions speaking volumes.

Surprisingly, it was soft-spoken Boo who stepped forward, twirling a tendril of hair that had come loose from her snood, nervously. "Um, Sasha, it's not like Carl and I aren't perfectly honest with each other, it's just that it's not exactly protocol to interrogate somebody that you want to take your—_you know_!" She whispered, then glanced around Sasha's apartment as though anyone could have overheard.

Again, the homeowner smirked, interrupted by a dinging from her oven. "Talk amongst yourself, ladies. I'm going to go check on the quiche," She said briskly, tying a bow on her Martha Stewart-inspired apron.

Melanie leaned in, her dark hair curtaining her face. "What the freak is a quiche guys? Is she trying to, like, hypnotize us with exotic food so we don't realize that we're being made into neurotic sex slaves?"

Ginny took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. In a high-pitched voice she said, "It's OK. It's just like that video in health class said: don't give in." A sickening thought came to the blonde. "Oh my gosh I'm turning into my mother. I cannot end up like my mother. My mother has security cameras installed into my dad's houseplants so she can find a reason to call the police on him again!" She rapidly clapped her hand over her mouth. "You're not supposed to know that!"

"I won't tell!" Sang Sasha, a pie tin in her oven-mitted hands. "Now, while this cools, let's discuss strategies. Boo? Why don't we review that 'graphic novel' one more time?"

The quartet spent the rest of the afternoon pouring over articles attached to floral clipboards (from the depths of Sasha's apartment) and a crudely drawn comic from Carl's artistic dungeon.

Eventually the girls made their excuses to go and bid each other goodbye; Boo was the last to depart.

"Hey, can I ask you something? Isn't this a bit…extreme? If someone loves us, won't they wait?"

"Boo. Dear, misinformed, Boo. Right now we are of the prime age to begin taking advantage of our natural hormones. It would be unjust to us and our men to put off this chemical reaction until it has simmered down and is no longer suitable. It's only fair that we let them indulge while they can, before they tire of us and run off to the next ballerina who can arabesque into a split."

Granted, she had a point, and who was Boo to argue with Sasha? She was so all knowing and much more mature than Carl's little girlfriend, whose own mother hadn't even finished having children yet!

When Roman came knocking on Sasha's apartment door at four o'clock sharp on Saturday night, he didn't expect her to lumber up without even seeing who was there, lazily open the door, and sit back down on her couch engrossed in reading, "Our Bodies and Ourselves"—not once looking up or removing her nose from the book throughout the whole process.

Hands in his jean's pockets, Roman stood in front of his girl, his punk t-shirt the only article with color that he had on. "So…what's going on? Spill it. What's the deal with you and your girlfriends catching up on your facts like you're about to audition for Jeopardy?" He took the book from her, eliciting Sasha to perform a death glare and cross her arms across her chest menacingly. Roman chuckled, not intimidated in the slightest.

"Nobody studies that subject this much unless they're a relationship therapist or nymphomaniac. Which is it, Sasha?" He joked, his irises glinting while she bored holes through his skin with her narrowed eyes.

"I need to know everything there is to know, and that's just how it has to be," she explained curtly, grabbing for her afternoon reading back.

Roman sat down beside her on the couch, flinging her book into the kitchen. "Hey!" She protested, "Not only is that unsanitary—I haven't swept since last night!— but I paid a good twelve dollars for the hardback edition of that piece of literature and will not let it be wasted by _you_!"

"But you love me," he chided. Sasha's lower lip was trembling involuntarily. She had never done well with commitment.

"So what?" She retorted hotly, settling on neither confirming nor denying her affection for her boyfriend.

Roman took out a plastic rose from the pocket of his black leather jacket. "So you know it's true, and that's really all you need to know. Here, take this. I didn't think you'd appreciate someone going to great lengths to get you a real flower, so you're going to like this one instead," he instructed, smiling while Sasha smiled back. She rarely smiled without an alibi, so this was a coveted treat.

"Thank you kindly." She plucked the plastic rose from between his fingers and placed it on the coffee table beside her couch. "And what makes you so sure you know so much about this? What have _you _read, what research have _you _done?" She teased, leaning in and sneaking a chaste kiss on his lips. "It's not like a bathroom is the height of romance. Plus, if I read your report correctly, you were too intoxicated to tell the girl from the showerhead."

"Well guess what?" Roman challenged, slowly pushing her into a lying position, "I can see clearly with you, so forget about your reputation for one damn minute and just go with it."

So she did.

And for the first time in her life, Sasha abided by someone else's standards, and found out that it can work surprisingly well.

Disclaimer: ABC Family has ownership over Bunheads, I'm just a fan :) Thanks so much for reading and feedback is always welcome! Feel free to request stories, as well.


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